What is a Storm?
by Copper1
Summary: B/V goodness, but its not quite what is expected. A weird twist to it, I hope. Its rather unique, but holds a bit closely to the storyline. Oh ya, A/U


Warning: The following will be rated PG-13 for the time being, but as always, it it subject to change.  
  
I do not of Dragonball Z. I do own Tony (who is merely a plot filler, not really a main character. This is not a self insertion. Tony is the stalker dude. And besides, I'm not a guy. I would never write a self insertion, let alone making me a guy. So there.)  
  
Please excuse any spelling an/or grammar mistakes. They are not intentional, I assure you. My spell check is on the fritz and I don't have a beta reader, so I just do the best I can.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
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What is a storm?  
  
What is it that holds mortals, so confident in their manner and their right to be, naked and helpless before the awesome beauty of the whirling winds?  
  
Why do people watch the rain?  
  
Perhaps it is just an instinct that has not quite been killed yet. The danger.. the excitement. The love of the unknown, but the fear of it as well. The hurried breathing that accompanies the adrenalin rush after the first crash of lightning that signals the sky to begin its descent. On and on it rages, seeming to never have an end, seeming to know that you are just around the corner... hiding from your own end. The power that the storm has, the awesome godlike rage!  
  
Just as you know that the storm will overtake you, tear you away from all you know and swallow you into its swirling wind, everything stops. Time seems to stand still.  
  
You find yourself in that odd time of contemplation before losing all you once knew. Its a transition, a change. A point in time that, while ending one chapter, begins one anew. The sense of unfullfilment eases as the aching gaps in your soul seem to close. In this moment, this time where time slows to a stop, you know. You know. Age or mortality no longer matters. You are alive again, blessedly alive, and the years you have spent on this earth are torn away, lifted from bruised and tired shoulders and you are reborn.  
  
Alive.  
  
And so begins my story, and as with all good stories, it begins where it ends. In a storm. A force of nature so powerful that not even the greatest in the land has ever learned to conquer it. Now, sit back my friends, and be ready for a tale. It is not one you will soon forget.  
  
* * *  
  
Rain crashed down upon her head. Cursing under her breath, the young woman dashed from her house and into the overhanging eaves of her house. Makeup was smearing down her face in long streaky tracts down her face. Rubbing her cheek with on pale hand as she reached into her purse, she muttered. "Damn that so-called waterproof makeup... Aha!" she exclaimed as she found her house key. Turning the key in the lock, she was rewarded with a comforting 'thunk' as the catch turned. Letting herself in, she wasn't surprised that the rooms were dark. Her parents generally went to bed early, and it was already pushing one-thirty in the morning.  
  
She stood there in the foyer as the water that slicked her hair back to her skull dripped down her form. Her clothes were simple, but pretty. She wore a pair of black slacks that hugged her hips gently before falling in a chaotic tumble to her feet. Her shirt was a creamy blue with sleeves that went all the way to her petite wrists, with a blossom of silk at the cuffs. Black designer boots graced her delicate feet. Once, before the entire business of the storm, her hair had been swept up about her head, trailing delicate curls around her face, but now, it was al fallen about her neck. The perfume she had been wearing had all but washed away. Now she smelled like wet hair and makeup.  
  
Truth be told, it wasn't all that bad.  
  
With a sigh, Bulma turned and walked into the living room. Flopping down on the couch, she let out a thankful breath as she eased off her trendy boots. Stylish they might be, comfortable they were not. Wiggling her toes within their socks, she smiled. She then lay back on the couch and flipped on the TV. Perhaps a quick rest would be in order before she trudged up to her room.  
  
Bulma scowled as she flipped through the channels. Nothing good was on... there was an infomercial about some new invention that made toilet cleaning better... another one about some unbelievable can opener that managed to be a toaster oven and a coffee make all at once. Bulma trilled a short laugh. "So... you can make your toast and coffee and feed your cat at the same time? Ridiculous." she murmured.  
  
The only sound in the room was the hum of the television and the clicking on the remote control. Tired of flipping through the channels, she eventually stopped when it came to a music channel. It was country. A small grin tugged at Bulma's lips. Not that she'd ever let any of her friends find out, but country music was one of her secret loves.The sadness of many of the lyrics just called to her, somehow. Not that she wasn't happy. She was.  
  
She was single. By mutual decision, she and Yamcha had moved on, and remained good friends. Close friends. It had been about a year since their seperation, but they still loved each other like siblings. Yamcha enjoyed his new freedom to meet new girls and Bulma... well, she was well over Yamcha, but she didn't want to rush headlong into a relationship right now. Yamcha and she had been together for years, and while she knew that era was closed, she wasn't sure she wanted to start anew. So she just stayed with superficial dates, not staying with any man for too long. Many times, only dating three or four times before moving on. Tonight she had gone out to a club by herself, just looking to have a good time. She had returned home with about six phone numbers, but she doubted she'd call any of them. All those men really wanted was a good lay.. and more than one of them had a shadow on their hands where a wedding ring had been worn.  
  
She snuggled down into her pillows and watched the music videos flow across the screen. She felt her eyes growing heavy, drooping of their own accord.  
  
She fell asleep without a fight.  
  
* * *  
  
With a suppressed yawn, the flame haired man stepped silently down the stairs. Sniffing the air, his aristocratic nose wrinkled slightly. The smell was a familiar one. It came off of the woman after her nights out. Mostly it was the smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and male sweat. It wasn't like she went out to whore herself in the night, but she could at least take the courtesy of bathing so she wouldn't offend him with her stink.  
  
Vegeta waved a hand in front of his face as he reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs. The low thrumming of the television caught his sensitive hearing. Surprisingly, he recognized the melody coming from it. It was an older on, called 'So Help Me Girl', it was one of those sad songs that the woman seemed to love so much. Glancing at the room as he passed by, an amused smirk graced his cold face as he saw her laying on the couch with one arm haphazardly over her eyes and the other lay fallen off the side. Her mouth was open ever so slightly and a soft snore pervaded the room. Rolling his eyes, he wandered out of the room to begin his morning warmups. That damned woman was the weirdest being he had ever met. She hated to be anything less than perfect, but she let her true slobbishness show when her guard was down. How humiliating that must be.  
  
~Good thing a Saiyan never lets his guard down.~ Vegeta's thoughts drifted back to his rival.. after a moment, he amended his thoughts. ~Good thing that a true Saiyan warrior never lets his guard down...~  
  
With a minute shake of his head, the prince left the house and squleched through the mud to his training room. A light drizzle remained from the storm of the previous night, coating him in a sheen of dampness.  
  
* * *  
  
"So help me girl, I've gone too far, its way too late to save my heart..."  
  
Bulma woke slowly to the sound of Joe Diffie songs being bawled out over the television. With a groan, she rooted around for the televison remote control and switched the darn thing off. Hearing the front door slam, she frowned and looked at her watch. Four-thirty. She'd only gotten a few hours sleep, but it was better than none. She was restless. She had been so for the past few months. Nothing was going on. The warriors were all training, and everyone seemed to have something to do. Even Chi did. Chi kept house for her two Saiyans, and that took up a lot of time and energy. Bulma, with the house bots to do all the work, had relatively little to do. Helping her dad out in the lab might be a diversion, but she eventually came back to the same problem. She was bored.  
  
She rarely even talked to Vegeta anymore. Not that they were at all civil to each other when they did speak, it was just that their paths rarely crossed. She had finally begun to puzzle out his bizarre training schedule. For two weeks straight, the man would work himself to the ground, fighting imaginary foes within the gravity room, but sooner or later he would stumble out and flop down in the living room or dining room. Once there, he would fall into a meditative state. Sometimes he'd sit for hours on end, just listening to his own breathing. One day, she had gathered the courage to ask him why he wasn't out training.  
  
Her ear still hurt from that tongue lashing she'd gotten. "Leave me be, woman," he'd hissed,"Any real warrior, or any smart individual, for that matter, knows that a body can only take so much before it needs to recuperate. Foolish human. Go back to doing whatever it is you humans do." His eyes had immediately closed again and his serene breathing returned.  
  
Bulma remembered swearing a string of oaths that would make a sailor blush, then stomping out of the room in a vain attempt to find something to amuse herself.  
  
Bulma stood slowly and made her way stiffly to the shower. For some reason she had the feeling that it would be a rather tiring day, and it was only the morning.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was already later into the evening when another storm rumbled its intentions through the fading daylight. Bulma sighed and rolled her eyes. Not another one.  
  
"Oh well, at least I'm not going out again tonight. That was boring enough as it is.."  
  
She went back to tweaking the program she was working on. She had started a rather large project. It was actually inspired by the violet haired boy that had visited. The strange time machine that he had arrived in had been so intriguing. She wished she might have had more of a chance to study it, perhaps create one of her own. Oh, she was still going to make one, but this one was going to be from scratch. Just as she was getting truly engrossed in her work, a page beeped into her office.  
  
"Yes?" she inquired absently.  
  
"Miss Briefs, there is a man on the phone for you. Line four. He says it is rather urgent."  
  
"Mmm-mm. Thanks Dierdre."  
  
"Welcome, Miss Briefs."  
  
Setting down her tools, Bulma made her way to her cluttered desk and searched for the cordless phone. After a few minutes of fruitless search, she'd found it.  
  
"Briefs here."  
  
"Hello, Miss Briefs," a deep voice purred over the other end,"My name is Tony. Tony Bass."  
  
"Can I help you, Mr. Base?" Bulma had noticed the seductive growl of the voice, but paid it no mind. She wanted to get back to her new invention in the making.  
  
"See, Miss Briefs... may I call you bulma?"  
  
"I am Briefs. What is it that you want? Really, if you don't come out and say it sir, I'll have to go. I'm rather busy right now."  
  
"I doubt that, Bulma."  
  
"Excuse me?!"  
  
"I'll be seeing you around, Bulma... Even if you don't see me." *click*  
  
The blue haired woman stared in disbelief at the telephone in her hand, gripping it tightly as though it might give her some answers. No answers came.  
  
A slow chill clawed its way up her spine.  
  
"I have a stalker.." she whispered.  
  
* * *  
  
She walked back inside the building, using her lab coat for protection against the fat water droplets that were already falling. She stumbled into the kitchen, but finding no one there, she made her way to the living room. Her parents, as usual, were either out or asleep, but she was holding hope against hope that someone would be in there. She didn't know if she could bring herself to tell anyone about the phone call, but she was yearning for some companionship.  
  
Was it really any big surprise when she saw Vegeta meditating in the room?  
  
He was sitting in an armchair off to the corner of the room with his eyes closed. His breathing came deep and steady, as it always did. Bulma knew that even though Vegeta didn't care about her safety all that much, that he would beat the crap out of anyone who interrupted him. The only reason she had been spared that one day was because he had need of her expertise in using her family's electronics.  
  
She settled quietly into one of the sofas in the room, curling her wet body into a compact little ball. Having nothing better to do, she examined him.  
  
He sat leaning back in the chair with his head held straight on his proud neck. His arms rested on the arms of the chair. His entire body was covered in black spandex-like material, save for his feet, which were bare, and his hands, which were in their customary white gloves. His face was serene, or the closest thing to serene as Vegeta could get. Even his body seemed relaxed, though the muscles were taught and coiled. He looked for all the world like a snake waiting for its prey.  
  
So busy was Bulma in watching him that she nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke.  
  
"Go away, woman. I'm not here for your amusement."  
  
She sniffed. "Well, its MY house, Vegeta. If anything, maybe YOU should leave."  
  
A smirk passed over his face. His eyes were still shut. "At least I'm not the one walking around in inner turmoil. For crying out loud, you humans are so high strung."  
  
Bulma scowled darkly and curled up tighter into a ball on the couch. Her hair dripped down her back, puddling on the cushions. She turned her eyes to Vegeta again, but any words she might have said died on her lips.  
  
His dark onyx eyes pierced the darkness, staring right at her. It was as though she was being searched. Her entire soul. As though it was laid bare before him. Seeing her openmouthed reaction, he snorted and muttered something about how humans were so easily frightened.  
  
Glancing out at the storm, then at the clock on the wall, he stood, and walked silently out of the room. It was ten in the evening. She suddenly realized how tired she was.  
  
With a groan, she made her way up the stairs to her room. Not bothering to remove her rainsoaked clothes, she padded to her bed, pausing just long enough to kick off her shoes. She was asleep before she even hit the pillow.  
  
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So... yeah.  
  
This is not my first fic, but its one that I actually feel good about. Reviews will be greatly appreciated, or even an email or two.  
  
I don't know when the next one willl be up, but hopefully within a few days. =)  
  
Thanks for reading!  
  
-Copper 


End file.
